Larger now she seems, Her voice not mortal, as her heaving breast Pants, with the approaching Deity possest.
"Pray, Trojan," peals her warning utterance, "pray! Cease not, AEneas, nor withhold thy quest, Nor stint thy vows.

While dumbly ye delay, Ne'er shall its yawning doors the spell-bound house display." IX.

She ceased: at once an icy chill ran through The sturdy Trojans.

From his inmost heart Thus prayed the King: "O Phoebus, wont to view With pity Troy's sore travail; thou, whose art True to Achilles aimed the Dardan dart, How oft, thou guiding, have I tracked the main Round mighty lands, to earth's remotest part Massylian tribes and Libya's sandy plain: Scarce now the flying shores of Italy we gain.
X.

"Enough, thus far Troy's destinies to bear, Ye, too, at length, your anger may abate And deign the race of Pergamus to spare, O Gods and Goddesses, who viewed with hate Troy and the glories of the Dardan state.
And thou, dread mistress of prophetic lore, Grant us--I ask but what is due by Fate, Our promised realms--that on the Latian shore Troy's sons and wandering gods may find a home once more.
XI.